#ilmater

She sat bolt upright. Everything was loud. In her half-awake confusion, she thought for a brief second that she might be on the docks back in Baldur’s Gate, because she could hear waves roaring against her tent. Then she realized it wasn’t waves at all—it was pounding sheets of rain being blown against her tent by the howling wind. But above that sound came another: people screaming in terror. Tash shook her head twice. Her still-wet hair whipped into her temples, forcing her brain awake. Then she threw herself to her feet. There was no time for armor. She grabbed her mace and her shield and she rushed from her tent into the downpour. Darkness.

Flashes of spells and glints of metal. 

They were under attack. 

She squinted through the rain and into the dark. She could see several paladins and clerics gathered around their cart of supplies, defending it against a handful of humanoid attackers wearing mismatched armor. Their cart-horse was stamping and pulling desperately against the bridle that anchored her from bolting. But that wasn’t where the screaming was coming from. The lay travelers!

Tash turned to the tents in the center of their camp to see twice as many armed fighters were closing in. Another group of Ilmatari were rushing to aid, but they were many steps behind. Tash was nearer. She watched as the closest, masked intruder pulled out a glinting knife and sliced into the canvas of the tiefling woman’s tent. Tash stowed her mace and broke into a sprint. 

In hindsight, she could have cast a spell. As it was, she rammed her shield into the intruder at full-speed just as they were wrenching the plum-haired woman out from her tent and onto her feet. 

The three of them went sprawling into the mud. Lightheadedness rushed over Tash as she fell, her vision spotting with true blackness. For a brief moment she feared she’d lose consciousness—the all-out effort of sprinting nearly overcoming her starving muscles. But then her head cleared and she could see again. 

The masked attacker had regained their feet. They were stalking back toward the tiefling woman. “Where is it all?!” the attacker yelled in a deep voice. 

The woman had fallen onto her back. She tried desperately to scrabble away backwards, but her long coat caught on the ground and her hands slipped without purchase on wet grass. The attacker must have lost his knife in the muck, because he now held a club. 

He drove the club mercilessly down toward the tiefling. She curled her legs up to try and protect herself from the onslaught of blows, but it was little use. A heavy-handed swing struck bone with a horrifying crack. The woman’s scream pierced the night. 

Tash had finally found her bearings. “Flagra!” she cried, sending a bolt of radiant light hurtling toward the attacking figure. The bolt hit and he cried out in pain, backing away from the tiefling woman. Tash rushed to her side. 

The blunt force of the club against the tiefling woman’s knee had split open not only the fabric of her trousers, but also the skin of her kneecap, revealing the shining white patellar bone underneath. Blood rushed from the edges of the wound. “Hells below!” the woman wailed, clutching at her leg. “Fucking FUCK YOU Prosper!” Tash crouched low in front of her and tried to cover as much of their bodies with her shield that she could. The rain had thankfully slowed to a drizzle, but water from the puddle she stood in was seeping into her boots—Tash tried to ignore it as she called out her spell. 

She felt the familiar warmth in her right hand as it lit with an icy-blue glow and the woman’s knee began to stitch back together. Tash was surprised—despite her exhaustion, her healing was as efficient as always. Her shield arm ached, and she could hear the clashes of combat around them, of metal and wood and the occasional shriek of a spell, but she kept her eyes trained on the woman’s knee until it was whole. Just as the skin was mended, the woman cried out again. “LOOK OUT!” 

Tash glanced up just in time to see the club hurtling towards them again. She threw her bare casting hand up against its swing. 

The club hit just above Tash’s wrist. Her forearm buckled beneath it with an audible crunch. Tash fought against the pain of it and moved to brace both arms against her shield to shove their enemy away even as she fell to her knees. But when she tried to move her right arm, she caught sight of a horrifying new joint bending sickly above her wrist as if she had been given a second elbow. Her hand hung limply from the break, and she watched water drip from the tips of her curled fingers.

Nausea gripped her.

Alba’s going to be real disappointed about this, Tash thought in a manic flash of dark humor. It steadied her curdling stomach. 

“Incede!” James’ voice cried out. Tash whipped her head around to see him advancing towards them as her enemy went up in flames. Sister Liri was steps behind him, holding blue fire in one hand and brandishing a sword in the other. The attacker ripped off his burning mask, revealing the face of a tiefling with short, plum-colored hair cropped between his horns. He looked to each cleric, fear plain on his face, then took off running into the forest. 

“That’s right, keep running you gods-forsaken bastard!” the woman screamed after him, momentarily rising onto her knees. “Shit,” she added quietly, dropping to the ground beside Tash. 

The assault on their camp was over. Tash looked up from beneath her shield and saw all of the attackers had been driven away, save one lone man who lay moaning in the mud. 

James went to help heal him while Brother Larence and one of the paladins bound his arms. 

“You knew them,” Sister Liri said to the tiefling woman, drawing near and giving her a curious look. 

The woman was still crouching near the ground. Tash turned to her, worried for a moment that the healing had been inadequate—though Tash was hardly in a state to help that. Instead, she was surprised to see the woman was actually searching carefully for something among the grass. As she looked closer, Tash noticed there was jewelry scattered among the gleaming raindrops and puddles—a handful of earrings and a glittering bracelet that the woman quickly plucked off the ground. 

The woman examined the tear in her long coat, and Tash could see inside the garment where there were a dozen other gemmed broaches and necklaces sewn into the inner layer, extending further up than Tash could see the end of. If the whole coat was sewn with the jewels, there had to be more than a hundred pieces in there—a sizable fortune.

Tash was too unwell to question it; her natural curiosity was being drowned out by the roar of visceral pain in her arm. But Sister Liri looked up and down at first the coat and then the tiefling woman wearing it. “Who are you?” she asked. 

The woman, still with a fistful of jewelry, ran a knuckle over her restored knee, pausing at the torn fabric of her trousers stained in her own blood. 

“Phetria. Phetria Sitabras. Jeweler,” the woman said lowly. 

Brother Calep had joined them now. He was slightly out of breath. His mail shirt had a small splatter of blood on it. “Seems like you could’ve afforded to spring for more expensive guards,” he laughed. 

The tiefling woman sighed. She tucked the handful of jewelry into her pocket and stood, now looking down on Calep. “I was trying to move all of the inventory secretly. My sister already prepared a storefront in Elturel, we were going to quietly transfer it all from Baldur’s Gate.”

Calep raised an eyebrow. “Seems like it wasn’t that secret.”

“Apparently not. My idiot brother is smarter than I thought. And more pissed than I expected that we cut him out.” 

Tash could see Brother Ame and Reverend Mother Catrine approaching the laypeople’s tents, making sure that people in the middle of camp were alright. 

James and the others hoisted the freshly healed and tied bandit to his feet and marched him to where everyone was gathering. The man was no longer an enemy - now he was just a scared, soaked human in poorly fitting leather armor. 

“We can hand him over to the Hellriders tomorrow when we cross their patrol,” Brother Larence said. 

The paladin nodded. “They must have thought themselves very clever, attacking in the dark just before we hit their jurisdiction.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Mother Catrine commanded the paladin, who nodded and took hold of the man’s arm. “See if you can find him a bedroll. Bread and water in the morning, so he knows we don’t lack compassion.” 

The bound man glanced at Phetria, who glared back at him with a white-hot hatred, making him drop his gaze quickly. “He wasn’t going to give you whatever he promised,” she spit. “Prosper’s greedy."

The man remained silent. Brother Larence and the paladin led him out of the group’s center. 

“Enjoy your night in Ilmater’s mercy,” Calep shot under his breath as he passed, “because you’re not going to like the Companions.”

“Who else needs healing?” James called out. Their entire party was gathered now, and a few people held up their hands. Tash moved to lift her broken arm, but the slight movement sent such an extreme wave of pain up her arm that she had to steady herself against her shield with her left hand to keep from passing out. 

Phetria looked down at her. “Um, I think she does,” she said, raising her own arm on Tash’s behalf. 

James caught sight of Tash still kneeling wounded on the ground and he rushed to her side. 

“Wait!” Mother Catrine called out, holding a hand up to stop everyone. 

The crowd grew deathly silent. 

“Heal those that journey with us, as a display of Ilmater’s powerful compassion,” she cried. “But for those of us who take solace in the blessed tears of the Crying God, may we embrace the suffering he has given us.”

Mother Catrine drew near to Tash. Her billowing grey robes—made heavier with rain—hit Tash’s shield with a soft splat. As Tash looked up at her, the Reverend Mother reached out a hand and braced Tash by her good arm, pulling her to her feet and out of James’ reach. 

Tash swayed for a second but Mother Catrine held her fast. All eyes were upon them. 

“This servant has given her body in protection of another!” Mother Catrine called. 

James stood and tried to say something, but in that moment Mother Catrine shifted Tash to her other side and into the arms of Brother Ame, who now steadied her. 

Tash’s head swum, and she almost lost her vision again before the dizziness cleared. 

Mother Catrine removed the red cord that hung around her neck and held it up to the rain. Then she grabbed Tash’s broken hand and lifted it, too. 

Tash gritted her teeth against the scream that threatened to tear from her lungs at the grinding pain of her shattered forearm bones being manipulated.

“She has done what Lord Ilmater asks of us all—to act without thought for ourselves, in holy service to others!”

Mother Catrine smoothly looped the red cord over Tash’s broken arm, encircling it and tying it with a flourish. 

“Join me as we thank our Broken Lord for the selflessness this cleric has shown today:

Lord on the Rack, weep for us!”

A chorus of voices was rising from their party, mixing with the slow patter of still-falling rain. The camp glowed with a dozen blue-tinged conjured lights. The senior clergy had drawn closer. Everyone Tash could see was staring in reverence—all but James. He was silent. His eyes were wide with a different emotion. 

“For we are weak, and you endure

Let your heavy tears fall

And may we wince on their salts as we sup 

Amen”

~*~

Shield, for the love of Ilmater!

Olan’s voice replayed in her mind as a stream of pain-fueled tears rolled down Tash’s cheeks. Her right arm’s sickening, pounding ache mixed with the hot regret in the pit of her stomach. She stared at the walls of her tent and her entire being throbbed in agony. 

Olan would have judged her fighting—her first real battle—with a disappointed eye. Had she played to her strengths, or used any of the skills he’d painstakingly taught her? 

Of course not. 

She had instead barreled into the situation and held out her bare arm for destruction instead of shielding. Or blocking—oh GODS why hadn’t she pulled her mace to block?! 

Her arm was growing colder. It was still healable, but how long until that wasn’t the case? It was swelling now, nearly twice as large as her arm was supposed to be, pressing up against the edges of the cord like a tourniquet. She had lost feeling in it completely—no doubt the tissue was dying. 

She thought through the clerics with her and counted through their skills: who could mend bone, who could renew necrosis… 

But regenerating a lost limb was another thing entirely. Sister Clarwen might be able to do it, but she was nearly four days back to Baldur’s Gate. 

Tash stared down at the mangled arm. Her left arm twitched with the desire to just heal its twin already. 

But I can’t…

If she healed her arm herself she’d be faithless. All she could do was wait. Would Lord Ilmater take pity on her suffering and heal her arm, like the stories of the saints? 

A dark fear crept into her mind: waking up in the morning with a dead stump that would need amputation. If she lost her arm she’d be proven unworthy of Ilmater’s intervention—and her dead arm would be the receipt of the god withholding His mercy.

A double bind. 

She shook her head. He already gave you a home, a place in the world instead of a grave. How much more mercy do you need? 

“Tash?” a voice whispered from outside her tent. 

She held her breath, afraid to answer. Maybe I should pretend to be asleep?

“Tash?” the voice repeated. James’ voice, she realized. 

“Yes?” she answered weakly. She wiped her face dry with her shirtsleeve. 

James ducked his head through the small tent’s entrance. His hair was wild, frizzing darkly around his head after being soaked by the storm. Tash imagined her own hair was probably equally messy. 

“May I come in?”

He waited for her nod, then he was kneeling beside her. He held a handful of blue light in his hand to help his vision in the dark. It cast their shadows onto the canvas that surrounded them. Tash felt suddenly self-conscious, as if her breathing was echoing off their shadows at twice its normal volume. 

James studied her arm. Then he looked up at Tash. 

“You’re going to lose this if we do nothing,” he said simply. 

His forwardness shocked her. She drew away. 

“If that’s Ilmater’s will,” she returned. She tucked her arm into her side and tried to ignore how cold it felt. 

“I don’t think it’s Ilmater’s will for you to be left one-handed.”

He was trying to meet her eyes, but Tash wouldn’t let him. She could feel hot tears rising behind her lids again and if he noticed she’d certainly lose her resolve. 

“It’s within His power to heal—and I’ll accept if he chooses not to.” Her voice sounded flat in her own ears. 

“It’s within your power to heal, through His gifts, if you’d-“

“I’m fine,” she cut him off. “So what if I lose a hand? I know people with none who’ve done just FINE!” 

Tash surprised herself with the angry intensity that ripped through her words.

James didn’t meet her there. He just…waited. 

Then, he put a hand to her shoulder. 

A hot tear finally broke over the edge of Tash’s eye. She felt it trickle down her cheek, betraying her. 

“Tash.” James’ voice was soft and whole. “Suffering by itself is not holy. Your pain does not bring any goodness. The only thing that should scar your hand is fighting for justice. Ilmater’s will calls us to know the balance between healing and pain.”

She was struggling to master her breathing. James waited. He held his knife to the edge of the cord that bound Tash’s hand. 

“Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll stay my hand.”

Tash looked up into the glow of blue light reflecting in his dark eyes. 

She gave him a small dip of her chin. 

With a flick of his knife, he cut the red cord from Tash’s arm. She watched the ragged edges fall to the ground. 

Tash winced. The hand had been numb and cold, but now the groove from the cord’s pressure burned fresh, and fire shot through her veins and into her hand as fresh blood came pounding down the arteries. She could imagine the blood sweeping away all of the rot that her bursting cells had spit out as they started dying. She turned her hand over to look at the purpled palm, and she could feel her misplaced forearm bones grinding against each other. She winced.  

“Do you want to fix it, or should I?” James asked her. She looked up and his eyes were dark and serious, more serious than ever. 

She nodded at him. “Go ahead,” she whispered.

With his first two fingers, he gently pressed down into her radial artery at the sensitive underside of her wrist. He hummed to himself. Then he ran the pads of his fingers across the fractured ulnar bone. Tash jumped involuntarily at the pain. 

James hummed again and placed both hands over the top of Tash’s broken arm. She watched as the harmless blue flames he held licked at her skin. 

“Te curo,” he said gently. I cure you. 

Relief washed through her arm like water down a stream. She could feel her breathing even as it no longer fought against the blinding pain. 

“I think I owe you my arm twice over,” she finally managed. 

James shook his head and smiled. “If I remember correctly, it was the shoulder last time. And I didn’t manage to fix it.” 

She grinned. “That’s true.”

She ran her left hand’s fingers over the perfect, newly-healed bones of her right. 

“There’s going to be a reckoning for this,” she murmured. 

James shrugged. “I bet you’ll know how to bite back. The younger you never took a reprimand lying down. Stop swallowing your words, and they’ll come to you.” 

He held her gaze for a moment. Then he ducked out of her tent and into the night. 

Though he took the light with him, Tash couldn’t help feeling like some of it had lodged in her chest, kindling her gall. 

~*~

The morning sun shone through the lattice of leaves overhead, casting a golden lace onto the walls of Tash’s tent.  

Tash ducked outside and the air smelled fresh. She stepped mindfully around the sprinkling of small white daisies that had bloomed in the grass after the rain. No sooner had she started to pull her tent’s stakes from the moist ground when a shadow fell across her. 

She looked up. Mother Catrine stared from Tash’s face to her conspicuously healed and cordless arm, then back to her face without a word. A vein was working itself to prominence in the Reverend Mother’s neck just above the grey collar of her robes. 

Catrine finally spoke, enunciating each syllable carefully. “A pity that you lacked the courage to be the conduit for Ilmater’s miracles.” She made a face so condescending that it took all of Tash’s willpower not to punch the Reverend Mother’s nose with her healed arm. 

Tash took a breath. She wasn’t a child anymore. 

“Suffering’s whip removes compassion,” Tash quoted the words of Saint Ramedar. “The righteous teach how to choose. I’m choosing two strong hands to bear the burdens of others.”

Catrine looked at her with plain disgust. Tash wondered for a split second whether Catrine was about to spit directly into her face. Then the Reverend Mother turned in a whirling of robes and plodded away. 

Tash let out a breath. She may have lost the quick cheek of her childhood—she’d needed to practice the scripture alone in her tent—but she was pleased to find that her words had come out loud and strong.

There was a low laugh behind her. Tash turned. 

James was there. He must have been waiting for her to get up. She was a little surprised that he’d kept his distance, but pleasantly so. The healing was her choice. Hers to defend. 

He stepped toward her. “I agree with you. Wholeheartedly. Though I hope you already knew that.”

She took a deep, shaky breath. The adrenaline of her impertinence was fading. “Thank you.” “Plus,” he added, “all of the incredible things you’re going to do with your life will be much easier with two hands, I suspect.”

Tash laughed. “Like what?” she challenged. She turned back to packing her tent—then something caught her eye. 

Phetria was walking by in the near-distance, offering Tash and James a tentative wave. Tash looked up and waved back with her right arm. Phetria paused in surprise. Then she beamed a full-toothed grin back. She gave a quick thumbs-up, straightened the lapel of her coat, and walked on. Tash wondered how heavy it was. 

“Well,” James continued after the jeweler had gone, “saving countless more lives. Dismantling corrupt regimes. Maybe casting a miracle. I guess we’ll see,” he shrugged. 

Tash scoffed. “Sure,” she joked. 

“Tash, you have a heart for the broken, a keen mind, undeniable skill, and many years ahead of you. I wasn’t being hyperbolic.”

Tash froze, embarrassed by his fantastic delusions. She could feel her ears burning pink. She shook her head gently and felt her fluffy hair slipping over the points of her ears, hiding them. 

“Alright, a more short-term goal then.” James allowed, grinning. “Sparring with the Tormtar? That’s definitely going to be better with both hands.”

Tash grinned back. Now that was an attainable goal. She finished packing her tent into her rucksack, shouldered her shield and mace, and stood. She thought briefly of the rations in her pack—then decided that breaking one edict was more than enough for the morning. She’d think on it again after Meridiem. 

“Ready,” she told him. 

James waved a hand in front of them. “Look out, Faerun!” he announced under his breath, animated but quiet—for which she was grateful. “Tash’s mace-hand is back. If you trample on the poor, she will crush you in Lord Ilmater’s holy name!”

Tash buried her hands in her head and laughed, and laughed, and laughed. And James laughed with her. 

“C’mon,” he said finally as they both calmed. “We’ll miss Calep’s story of the day if we don’t catch up.”

Tash grinned. She took two quick steps forward and threw her weight into a swing of her own. She let the momentum flow from her shoulder just as the paladin had taught her over many years, making the mace an extension of her arm and carrying the swing from her elbow to her wrist to her target. 

Her own padded mace collided with Olan’s much-used practice shield with a satisfying thump as he raised it to block. Tash plucked her arm back for another blow, so quickly that Olan wasn’t able to shift the shield in time. Her second blow connected with the wrist of his mace arm, knocking the arm down and leaving the right side of his body open. 

“Hey hey!” Olan shouted triumphantly, as if he hadn’t just been scored upon. 

Tash smiled and tried for a third hit, but he wasn’t going to let her win that easily. Her aching arms proved that Olan was going nearly all-out against her, which she counted as a point of pride. He shifted the right side of his body backward just out of her reach. 

He leaned into the turn, swiping forward with his shield—but Tash anticipated him. She ducked out of his way. 

“Much better. You’re smaller and quicker, use it,” he encouraged. 

She did. As she ducked, she swung her mace back-handedly and it collided with Olan’s own lowered mace, knocking both weapons into the inside of his left knee. He winced and took an unsteady step backwards. 

It was the first time Tash had ever forced him off-balance. 

He looked up at her with a grin. “Exactly!” He relaxed his stance, stowed his mace, and batted the side of her head with his palm good-naturedly. 

“I remember when you were no taller than the mace! And now look at you. Ready for the Tormtar I think! At least, they might be willing to teach you now, instead of just laughing you away.”

Tash beamed. She sucked down air and leaned back against the nearby wall. Then she began unwrapping the head of her mace. 

“You packed? Ready for Elturel?” Olan asked. 

She nodded and gestured to her full pack, resting against the plastered side of the nearest building.

“Not sure how many more of these little pilgrimages there’s gonna be, they’ve more than made up for their Penance of Duty or whatever, but you know how they are. Justice to the nth degree and all that. If they want to give up their coin, the Open Hand could definitely use it. And it’s always a good time to change scenery… get some new ideas in the pot…” he trailed off and shrugged. “Anyways, go back to the temple, see Sister Clarwen before you go—wanna be fresh for your first day on the road.” 

He stuck out his hand and Tash clasped it, bracer to bracer. 

She turned and walked back up the dusty road toward the temple. The sun was rising in the sky now, and she could start to feel its heat against her sore right shoulder, cutting the cool of morning. She couldn’t help grinning. Her mace work was improving, the hard-won fruit of years of labor. Ilmater’s healing seemed to flow through her, easy as breathing—and she thanked him for it—but there was something about the throw of a punch and the crunch of a mace that felt satisfying. The work was harder, and she found herself liking the grit of it. Healing was great, but stopping someone from hurting others in the first place was even better. 

The rising sun hit the limestone of the temple, making the stones’ cut edges gleam as Tash walked up its stairs. She stepped into shadow beneath the portico and paused at the front door. It had been over a month since she’d been back. 

She glanced at one of the trees in the small bricked yard, one she used to climb when she was small. Its leaves were turning a dusty red that matched the dye of her leathers. She remembered standing on her toes in ill-fitting boots to reach the first branch. Now the branch stared across the courtyard at her, eye-level.

She smiled. It had been years now since she lived at the temple and longer since she climbed its trees, and she was grateful for that. For a moment she could taste that helpless feeling again—nestled in the tree, watching Olan and the other paladins come and go from the temple where they never stayed longer than a tenday or two, while she was stuck under the watchful eye of whichever cleric had drawn the short match of babysitting. Now she was old enough to journey where she wanted, too. 

Tash pushed through the front doors and the smells of the temple folded around her: old timber and incense, fresh porridge and baking bread, and the slightly acrid bite of astringent. 

Several beggars sat at the ancient wooden tables, waiting patiently for Brother Sai to serve breakfast. Tash nodded and smiled at the people she knew. At the third table sat a toddler with shining yellow curls tucked into her mother’s lap. Her mother seemed to keep both hands hidden in the folds of her dress, but Tash knew she had none.

Tash paused and smiled at the two of them. Martha raised her eyes at Tash and the hint of a smile played on her face.

“Don’t,” Martha warned with a laugh. 

Tash raised both arms in surrender. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even get to hello!” She laughed too. 

Martha sighed. “Mae likes the music. And the sweets. Plus it’s free.” She shrugged. 

“You’re always welcome here. And it’s good to see you.” Tash set a hand on Martha’s shoulder. Martha shifted a little but didn’t shrug away. 

“Thanks,” Martha said. An admittance. 

Tash didn’t need an ‘I-told-you-so’. She smiled brightly at Mae and the tiny girl smiled back with a row of stubby white teeth. Their clothes were worn but clean. Neither were too skinny. 

Tash sent a swift prayer of thanks to the Crying God. Then she walked on to the back of the room and entered the infirmary. 

“You’ve got your road colors on,” Novice Alba said brightly when Tash walked in. 

“Yeah. Autumn pilgrimage to Elturel.”

“Lucky you. Or unlucky you,” Alba’s green eyes sparkled with mischief. Her dark, silken hair was drawn back into a neat bun, revealing her gently tapered ears. She wore the grey assistant’s apron over her temple robes. “How long are you going to be gone?”

“Two tenday about,” Tash said. “And you? How much longer on infirmary rotation do you have?”

“It’s my last tenday. I’ve liked it but Sister Clarwen can be a bit… intense sometimes.”

Tash nodded. “She’s always been intense. She’s good though. I don’t think I’ve ever met better. She’s the person to learn from. But two months of it can be… well, intense is probably the best word.” Tash actually enjoyed Sister Clarwen’s academic intensity to the severity of the other clergy’s teaching, but she knew that most novitiates didn’t share her excitement for anatomy and uncommon healing techniques. 

“She’s not around then?” Tash asked. 

“There’s an overturned cart on the bridge and some people were injured, she went to help. I hope she’ll be back soon—I bet there’ll be others wanting a fix-up before you leave.” She looked up at Tash, suddenly curious. “Actually, come to think of it, you’re here kind of early. I’m shocked.”

Tash chuckled. Truth was, she’d barely slept. Years of being late for most morning prayers had given her a reputation, which she occasionally got to circumvent when she showed up early for things only because she was actually up very late. To squeeze in mace practice this morning she’d stayed up nearly all night. She wouldn’t risk being late for today. 

“Excited, I guess,” Tash said. She shrugged out of her leathers and pulled her undershirt over her head. “So. If Sister Clarwen’s gone. You’re up.”

Alba whistled lowly. She ran her hands up and down the purpling bruises that dotted Tash’s arms like lily pads on a pond. “You don’t know when to stop, huh?” The sparkle was back, in her voice this time. Her hands were cool on Tash’s sore skin. 

She set about healing her. Tash would have done it herself, but she wanted to be ready for anything on the road; starting the journey with her prayers half-spent for the day was hardly wise. Alba was doing a great job—the nearly two months at Sister Clarwen’s side had served her well. 

Tash was only a few months older than Alba, but Alba had just taken her vows the year before. She was still a novitiate, while Tash had almost two years of fully-fledged healing and suffering under her belt. 

Tash looked up and down at the now-clear skin of her arms, free of blemish save her normal freckles. 

“That was well-done,” Tash told her.

Alba blushed but didn’t lose a beat. “Well, go ahead and have fun without me. Just tell me about it when you get back.” She dropped her voice slightly, and Tash knew she was talking about more than sightseeing. 

Tash shrugged and slipped back into her leather armor. “Probably won’t. Not like that.”

Alba laughed. “Always professional. Except for when you aren’t.” She ran her fingers down the  bruises she had just healed on Tash’s right arm and lingered with her finger tips brushing the knuckles of Tash’s first two fingers. 

Tash set her left hand on top of Alba’s fingers, stilling them. “Not now,” she said quietly. “I’ve gotta go.”

Alba smiled. “When you get back then. I’ll be done with infirmary, I’ll be back at the convent for nights.” It was as much of an invitation as Tash would get from her—Alba liked to flirt, but when it came down to it, Tash knew Alba didn’t like making the first move. 

Alba started the parting prayer, speaking the words softly over Tash. 

“Blessings to the hands and feet of your emissary, that they swiftly carry kindness, justice, and mercy upon those who have been harmed. Let her not fail in her duty to take suffering from the world, give her the strength to bear it in your name, amen.”

“Amen,” Tash said. 

“Blessings to her hands especially,” Alba added lowly. Tash didn’t usually blush but the thought of Alba’s prayers floating up to Ilmater had her feeling suddenly self-conscious. 

Alba laughed at her. “So some things do get through,” she teased. 

Tash started shouldering her traveling bag. “A tenday then,” she told her. Then she ducked out the door before Alba could say more. Tash knew she was a game to Alba—a game Tash liked playing—but today was for more than young lust. 

Today was for adventure.

~*~

A dozen Ilmatari and a few scattered laypeople were gathered beneath the ash trees at the edge of the eastward road leaving Rivington. A growing pile of rations and supplies was stacked on a cart drawn by a single horse at the center of the group. Nearly half of the Adorned standing around were from the Open Hand temple, most wearing leather armor over their traditional grey and red. Among them Tash counted Brother Larence, Reverend Sister Kare, and Brother Ame the Unbending—which meant Reverend Mother Catrine would be along shortly…

The rest were Ilmatari paladins whose plate metal glinted in the growing sunlight. Tash looked over the remaining travelers. A family of simply-dressed humans with two teen-aged youths, a tiefling woman with strikingly plum-colored hair wearing a long coat, and a group of three elderly halflings stood waiting to be accompanied to Elturel.

Tash settled in near to the paladins. She only vaguely recognized some of them, and that was fine. She kept to herself.  She didn’t feel like talking to the other clerics—they tended to treat her more like the orphaned child from the stash than a colleague, no matter how much she worked. The paladins were easier, their memories shorter—she could trade effort today for their respect. 

A quarter hour passed and now a group of clerics in simple grey robes were coming up the road. There were two dark-haired men - the first, an elf with a red skullcap, the other a human without - a halfling wearing a shirt of mail, and an older brown-skinned woman with her hair in braids. 

As they walked closer, Tash realized that the young man without a hat was familiar.

James. 

The four offered around polite nods and pleasantries as they joined the waiting group. Then, James’ brown eyes landed on Tash. His face lit up like a match. 

“Tash!” he called. 

She couldn’t stop herself from beaming back at him. 

James strode toward her and stooped slightly, embracing her from the side.  

He somehow seemed both taller and shorter than how Tash last remembered him. She’d grown since they’d last stood side-by-side, but it seemed that he had too, and it took a moment for Tash to adjust to her new perspective. James’ hair was still dark, wavy and wild, ringing his head like a halo. But his face was now covered in a beard of coarse, dark hair that extended over his lower cheeks and chin. He wore no armor over his robes - he was protected by only the cord-bound hands of Ilmater stitched above his heart in black and crimson thread. 

“I’m so sorry, forgive me—Sister Tash,” James corrected himself as he regarded her. “I’ve heard you’re fully-fledged now. Finished your novitiate and everything!” 

Tash glanced down at the ground and gave a soft shrug. “That’s true,” she laughed.

“Have you met Brother Calep?” James asked, pivoting toward the sandy-haired halfling who trailed just slightly behind him. The other two clerics had stepped away to mingle among the others. 

“Maybe once or twice,” Tash said. Calep had been in the same novitiate as James, but had been older, and paid little mind to Tash as a child. 

The halfling waved to her and his mail clinked. “We’ve heard that you’re quite talented,” he said. 

“I’m sorry?” Tash asked. 

James grinned sheepishly. “The word on the road is that Sister Clarwen spoke appreciatively of your skills to one of the paladins—a notable compliment.”

She could feel the tips of her ears start to warm and she was grateful they were tucked beneath her hair.

“Plus,” he added. “You took the Cup quite young.”

Tash snorted. “Not as young as you.” 

“I heard you were casting Ilmater’s mercies even before your initiation.”

Tash blushed fully now and glanced down. “You can’t believe everything you hear.” She changed the subject hastily. “And what about you? You’ve been on the road, right? That’s got to be more interesting than temple curricula.” 

James met her eyes for a brief moment. Then he followed her lead. “Well, we’d worked almost every corner of the city, so it seemed only natural to start traveling. Most of it’s been mundane—healing and helping—but I think I can claim that we’ve even been on some adventures.” 

His eyes twinkled for a moment, then dimmed. 

“Adventures where?” Tash asked. 

“Well, along the Coast Way, for starters.”

“And how was that?” she asked. 

“Eventful,” James said simply. 

Now Brother Calep snorted. “James likes to downplay the stories.”

“We’ve met a lot of different kinds of people,” James added evenly. “But that’s not too different from here.”

“We’ve met a lot of monsters!” Brother Calep added.

“Like what?” Tash asked. “Direwolves? Giant spiders?”

Brother Calep raised his eyebrows. “Ah sure we’ve seen some creatures too.”

James shot him a look and Calep smirked. “What?” Calep asked. “Half the people we meet are—"

“Struggling,” James finished, cutting him off. But the halfling wasn’t put out. He rolled his eyes playfully and sighed, drawing a tired laugh out of James. Their difference in opinion seemed well-tread. James turned to Tash. “I’m sure you can imagine. Being outside of the city means a lot less oversight, a lot less wealth— for better and for worse. People make do in the ways they can—they try to make right in the ways they can. It’s hard but it’s been… enlightening. We’ve been traveling with a couple,” he gestured to the other clerics they came in with. “Sister Liri and Brother Ralf. They’re older, and they’re from Scornubel. They have a lot of practical experience with aid. We’ve learned a lot from them.”

Tash nodded, glancing at the couple who was now talking with Reverend Sister Kare a few yards away. Liri held Ralf’s arm and Ralf tilted his head toward Liri, the fondness between them plain. They stood out; while there were plenty of trysts and short-lived romances between the younger clergy at the Open Hand, an older, established couple felt unusual to Tash. “Your travels sound better than shifts at Harborside,” Tash said.

James laughed knowingly. “Have you perfected your rope-burn healings yet?” he half-teased. 

She smiled. “The rope burns are fine. Sometimes we get an amputation and that’s great. I just…” she paused, looking at James then at Calep, who was glancing around the gathering crowd and paying little attention. She lowered her voice and took a step closer to James. “I got crossed up with Brother Ame because I started a fight with a Lathanderian who was taking too much coin.” 

James smirked. “Obviously, getting fleeced is good for peoples’ suffering,” he said sarcastically, then he bit his lip as if he’d let out a secret. Then he lowered his voice further. “I know it’s been awhile, but I used to know this kid who’d sneak out of the temple to heal every broken-winged bird and every scrappy underdog who’d been wronged.” Tash’s ears went hot again. She fluffed at her hair with one hand. “A kid who thrived with very little oversight,” James added with a chuckle. “You ever think the road might suit you better than the city?”

She gave him a small smile. “I guess we’ll see. It’s my first time traveling beyond the Gate.”

James smiled back. “I’m excited for you.”

Tash felt something warm inside her chest, a gentle stillness she hadn’t felt for several years. A scrap of belonging she used to have back when James would stick up for her, back when she was just a small, wild force for the clerics to pin down. Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of Reverend Mother Catrine. Her grey robes rustled before her, and the red cord that hung from her neck in place of a stole swayed from side-to-side as she walked. Brother Ame hurried to her side. More Adorned and laypeople had joined the group in the time that Tash and James had spent talking. All now turned to Mother Catrine. 

The crowd grew quiet. 

Tash was used to seeing the Reverend Mother behind the pulpit, with space and the convention of liturgy as a buffer. But now, with Mother Catrine standing almost casually among them, Tash was suddenly reminded of her initiation—of the way that Catrine had questioned her again and again over the top of the Cup as if she doubted the potion, her severe expression seeming to never soften despite any of Tash’s most heartfelt answers… “Welcome, my fellow sufferers of the Broken Flock!” Mother Catrine’s voice resounded off the trees. Whatever Tash’s opinion of her was, she had to admit Catrine was a talented preacher.

“We journey today to our brethren in Elturel, to help them fulfill their holy Penance of Duty. For, as we well know, suffering and penance leads to renewed faith, and faith in turn furthers justice. We shall meet the Tormtar in their rare offering of meekness, encouraging their humility as the Lord Ilmater tempers Torm Himself with deepest mercies. 

“We welcome these guests that join us,” Mother Catrine turned and gestured to the tiefling woman and other travelers gathered, “and we swear to protect you with our powers, our arms, and even our lives. In return, we ask that you keenly watch our ways, and see how we give our lives as willing sufferers to the Rack-Broken Lord’s creeds, because this wisdom is far more precious than any physical protection we might afford you on this journey. 

“To my brethren—we loyal wretches of the Broken God—I share with you this: a test of penitence that came to me as I prayed Compline in lowliness just last evening:

She gestured to the supplies they had gathered at the center of their group. 

“These rations, dutifully gathered, could feed us for this tenday’s journey… or,” she paused, briefly meeting the eyes of each Adorned who stood listening. “Or! We could bring these rations to the poor and downtrodden of Elturel, displaying the overwhelming charity of our gracious Weeping Lord. To an unpledged soul, the deliverance of these provisions could be the very proof of Lord Ilmater’s worthiness. For His creeds are a balm to the hungry, and His ways the solution to suffering. 

“May we abstain from these rations in a display of our sanctified endurance. May we eat only what we might forage or produce through Lord Ilmater’s ever-flowing mercies. Though surely, through the power of our Sufferer Supreme, many of us chosen by His glorious anguish may find our need for sustenance supernaturally relieved.”

Tash didn’t dare a glance to her left or her right. She’d never heard of a fast given during a pilgrimage, but she wasn’t about to betray her surprise. 

Catrine continued. “In light of this most holy trial, please join me in penitence as we observe Lauds.

Let the light of perpetual toleration…”

Tash found her voice and joined the gentle chorus of prayer that murmured among the trees. “…guide us your wretched servants to peace. In bloodied mercy—hear our prayers…”

~*~

“So it was all over—we’d finally solved where all the pox was coming from, and the three Talonites were in a pretty bad way just broken and bleeding in the street.” Brother Calep’s eyes gleamed as he spun the tale. 

The next morning’s sky glowed a veiled, cloudy grey. Their company was making their way slowly past the final hamlets that survived on the capillaries of trade from the now far-off city. Tash’s first day had been spent helping guard the front of the caravan, a plan she’d only half-volunteered for. It meant walking next to Brother Ame in an awkward near-silence for hours. She stopped to pick some berries to eat, but the Brother’s silent eyes watching her made her lose her appetite. Even once they’d stopped for the night there was no dinner to socialize around, no communal events besides an exceptionally long and dull Vespers, following which Tash had decided to cut her losses and retire. But her sleep was better than she’d expected on an empty stomach, and today was already proving better than the last. 

Brother Calep had a half dozen clergy and laypeople listening raptly as he gave what was obviously a well-rehearsed story. 

“So. Sister Liri goes to heal one of those sorry tattooed bastards, but the mayor stops her,” Calep continued. “Felt they didn’t deserve it after everything they’d done.  We probably coulda left it there—the sick were healed, and we didn’t want any trouble with the locals—but do you think that Lorgan was going to leave it?” He hit James in the ribs as he spoke. 

James raised his eyebrows, playing his part and saying nothing. Tash could see the hint of a smile playing on his mouth. 

“This man makes all of us accompany them to the next village over. Makes them promise to not hurt anyone in the village. And we’d given our word we wouldn’t heal them so he uses the last of our coin to buy them a room to rest up in. We were begging from Nashkel and back because of this fanatic!”

Those listening groaned with good humor. James gave a pained smile and accepted his friend’s roasting. 

Sister Liri’s voice rose from the back of the group. “We’d have been begging either way with how you handle money!” she teased. This brought on a chorus of laughter, and Tash wondered if she was about to launch a story of her own, but Sister Liri said nothing else. She was walking hand-in-hand with Ralf, looking more than content. 

The tiefling woman sighed. “Alright but you know those Talonites are just poisoning some new town now!”

James shrugged. “There’s rumors that the Silvershields keep a Talonite as a food taster, so presumably some make an honest living. One can do a lot of good if they’re immune to disease—less good if they’re dead.”

The way he said it was so matter-of-fact that no one had the gall to argue with him. 

Their group began to spread out, breaking off into smaller conversations now that Brother Calep’s story was over. 

Tash kept close to James, falling into step beside him and Calep. 

“So how much of that is true?” she asked them.

Calep scoffed, mock-hurt. “Are you implying I’d embellish our adventures? Sister Tash, the nerve,” he teased. 

Tash grinned back. There was a lightness inside of her chest, lifting her up so she felt like bouncing with every step she took. In the distance the Chionthar River wove its way along the countryside, a familiar friend to her, a ribbon from home spurring her on. The joy of being in a new place with kind people bubbled inside of her like a spring. For a moment she thought of Alba, probably taking her lunch break from infirmary in the garden overlooking the Chionthar, too. Tash hoped Alba was having as good a day as she was. 

“You’ve been back in the city more often now though, right?” she asked James, her good mood emboldening her. “I saw you at Lauds a tenday ago I think.”

“You probably did,” he said. 

“It sounds like you’ve had a great time traveling—why’ve you been hanging around back in Baldur’s Gate?”

He smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I, uh,” he said, chewing on the words. “I came back to the city a few months ago, when I heard my father had died.”

Brother Calep glanced up at James carefully, then fell back to join another group several paces back. He’d clearly already heard the story and was giving James space to tell it anew. 

Tash glanced back at him as he went, then turned back to James. “I pray that he was relieved of suffering as he passed into reverie,” she offered—the expected platitude. “And,” she added, “gods, I’m so sorry. Do you want to say more?”

James gave a barely noticeable nod. “I was away, we were healing out halfway to Amn and I… received a letter from my brother. It was an accident, a beam had fallen on his head while working a job. He lived half an hour and my brother tried to find a healer but…” he trailed off. 

Tash reached out and set her hand briefly on his arm. 

“Had I been there, I might have been able to help,” he added quietly. 

She nodded. They shared the silence for a moment until Tash felt sure of her reply. “I’m sure you know, but had you stayed a carpenter for him and not become a cleric, you’d have only been able to do the same as your brother.” 

“Hmm,” he said, looking down at the ground. Their boots hit the paving stones with soft thuds. Tash held her breath.

Perhaps I’ve been too forward. 

Then, James glanced up and nodded. “Still, plenty of things to do back in the city—people to help, not least of all my brothers and mother. I’d already signed on for this pilgrimage in the summer, but this’ll probably be my last journey in awhile. I think it’s time I helped relieve the suffering around my own home, you know?”

Tash smiled softly. “There’s certainly a lot to heal in the city,” she agreed. 

She thought about the patients at Harborside, the wards in Norchapel, and the spell-scarred in Scar Alley—and how few competent, honest healers worked to care for them. If James was back home for good, there’d be plenty for him to do. And maybe, she thought, I wouldn’t be the only tall nail getting hammered back down. 

“You know, some things have gotten better, since you’ve been gone,” Tash added. “There’s a new park in Brampton, it’s incredible—like stepping off the docks and right into a forest. In a way I think it’s been, well, healing for a lot of people down there. And it’s a good place to walk after a Harborside shift.”

James’ eyes twinkled. “I’d heard but I haven’t been yet. Maybe you’ll have to show me sometime.”

~*~

The rest of the day passed quickly, their walking broken up by stories, jokes, and the rhythm of prayer—though notably not by a midday meal. When the time came for Vespers, Tash took the chance to sit beside Sister Liri and James instead of off by herself on the edge of the group. Liri gave her a warm smile as they settled in for Mother Catrine’s preaching. 

“Where there is suffering, that is where a cry to our Rack-Broken God is found.” The Reverend Mother paced among them as she spoke. “In every heartbreak, there is an opportunity—the opportunity to seek his mercies. In every pestilence—an opportunity for penance. 

“What pain have each of you known?” She cast her gaze over the crowd, gesturing to audience members one at a time from the middle of their group. 

“A broken leg? The side-sickness? A fever that threatened to take your very life?” She drew very close to Brother Larence, who had famously nearly succumbed to fever before joining the clergy. Then she straightened up, regarding the crowd. “And as your troubles increased, did you not find yourself crying out to the Crying God all the more? Did you not begin to call upon him more fervently, with a faith stronger than the affliction that ailed you? With a faith that could carry you to even the brink of death, and beyond? And did you not, in that moment, taste the truest promise of this faith?”

The echo of her crescendoing words coming to a sudden stop reverberated around them. 

“So,” she started again, quietly now. “Who are we to take that sweet experience from the masses? We shall heal, yes, but we must be sure that the common person understands why we heal them. And sometimes, if the why is not fully grasped, it may be a better mercy yet to allow meditation upon the suffering. Then each sufferer will more fully cast faith upon Lord Ilmater when we remove these burdens through his holy power.”

~*~

Tash could taste the sour bile rising in the back of her throat as she pitched her tent for the night. Her empty stomach churned. She was used to eating dinner near Vespers, but the only cooking fires that lit their camp were those of the lay travelers cooking their own provisions. Tash thought of the cured meat and twice-baked biscuits in her own pack and her mouth briefly watered before she tamped down the edges of her mind. 

I’m not hungry. I am learning about the holiness hidden in hunger. 

Her stomach howled at her, as if mocking that thought. 

She nearly talked back to it—an obviously bad sign—when she heard James’ familiar laughter rising from the other side of the clearing they were settled in. Tash had crossed most of the camp before she even realized she’d started walking half-dazed in the direction of the sound as if it might heal some of the hunger in her belly. 

She neared the small group of tents ringing the fire where James and his friends had set up. She was surprised she could still smell the others’ dinners from here. 

“Sister Tash!” James grinned at her as she approached. 

As Tash grew closer, she was shocked to find the reason for the delicious smell: There was meat roasting on a spit in the middle of their fire.

She looked from James to the others, then back at the roast. Succulent juices rolled across the meat’s tender surface as Brother Ralf turned the spit, and the fat crackled where it grew close to the flames. 

An iron pot was nestled among the coals at the edge of the fire, and Tash could see quartered potatoes boiling with peppers and rosemary within.

Her stomach called out again in protest, and she tried to stifle it with her fist. 

“What are you doing?” she asked, looking at the dark-haired cleric manning the fire accusingly. Sister Liri sat next to him and casually took a drink from a cup she was holding. Neither said anything in return, but neither looked particularly guilty either. 

Tash passed a careful look to Brother Calep, who glanced up at James in turn. 

“Well, Lorgan?” Calep said. “You might as well give her the spiel.”

Tash furrowed her brows. “The spiel?”

James sighed. “It’s not a spiel it’s theology, I need you to stop calling it that. It’s not some secret.” He pinched the bridge of his nose and took a deep breath. “Sister Tash, please join us if you wish. Eat, or don’t, as you prefer.”

Tash eyed their dinner warily. “Reverend Mother Catrine told us we were not to eat our rations.” Her mouth was watering.  

“Did she?” James replied. “Or did she say she had a dream and was asking us to join her in what she believed was a show of piety?”

“I…” Tash started, then trailed off. “I don’t know that I see a difference.”

“Will you sit with us?” he asked. 

Tash looked around the camp carefully, considering. Then she nodded slowly and sat down on a log. Sister Liri stood to hand her a blanket, which Tash accepted wordlessly. Brother Calep stretched and re-settled near the fire, looking rather comfortable without his armor. Brother Ralf continued to turn the roast. Tash tried to ignore how wonderful it smelled. 

“Water?” James offered. “If it makes you feel better, I conjured it.”

Tash nodded again and took the cup he held out to her. 

He gave her a small smile. “Ok, so, let me ask you. What is our duty?” 

“To help all who suffer in any way we can,” she answered easily. 

“Agreed.” James nodded. “We heal. We feed, water, and clothe. We may be a listening ear, a work hand, a pallbearer, even sometimes a sacrifice. Right?”

Tash nodded. She took a careful sip from her cup. The water was cool and fresh and unsatisfying. 

“To what end?”

“To bear the burdens of others.”

“Exactly. So my next question is- would it be right or wrong to do something that makes us worse at bearing those burdens?” James’ dark eyes flickered with the firelight. 

Tash bit her lip. “I think it depends what it is. What the intention is. The Reverend Mother wants us to feed the hungry. That’s a good thing.”

James looked at her carefully. “I agree. Feeding the hungry is good. And I also agree that we should be volunteering to take on suffering when we need to. But isn’t the point to overall alleviate suffering? Not add to it?”

She looked at him carefully but didn’t respond. 

“When does suffering stop edifying a person and just serve to tear them down?” James pushed.

Tash considered. “When it’s divorced from the mercy of the Crying God.”

“Fair. But you’ve known Ilmater’s creeds all your life, right? Are you saying that all of your suffering has been necessary?” James pressed carefully. “Is suffering a reward we’re seeking, or the unfortunate reality we’ve sworn to endure? Isn’t the true goal mercy? Relief?”

Tash thought of the many nights she had spent without dinner in the name of learning some lesson the clerics were trying to teach her. “But the hungry in Elturel—”

“Should be fed,” he agreed. “But is it such a zero-sum game that we must starve to feed them? And what about these people we’ve sworn to protect? Don’t we have a duty to shore up our strength for them? Why test the powers that Ilmater has gifted us if we don’t have to? Isn’t that ingratitude?”

Tash’s head was spinning now.

James paused a moment to let her think.

“If I can explain it another way,” he said more gently. “If suffering is our badge of true penance, then how can we appoint ourselves with this honor? We must wait for it to be awarded to us. Following Ilmater means passio passiva,” he spoke the words in Celestial, “suffering because we have to suffer. Suffering because we are alleviating suffering. Not because we are creating more of it.”

Tash felt a lump rising in her throat. James’ words made sense, they sounded right, but so had Mother Catrine’s. She wasn’t sure what to do with the conflict rising in her body, mixing with the empty nausea she’d already been fighting back. 

She looked at Sister Liri and Brother Ralf. “And you? What do you think?” she asked them. 

Sister Liri smiled grimly, and her eyes seemed to travel miles away. “Years ago, we worked in Elturel, and a great evil filled the city. A vampire lord claimed it, and his minions prowled the streets. Suffering was everywhere. We needed all of our strength to fight, to heal and protect. We would not have survived had we weakened ourselves from within.”

“But suffering brings strength,” Tash countered, desperate to find some ideological footing. 

Sister Liri shrugged. 

Brother Calep crossed his arms. “I’d bet half the paladins have been eating their own rations, too. They’d be idiots not to. Plus,” he lowered his voice, “I’m sure Catrine won’t have us starving ourselves on the way back when there’s chests of gold to guard.” Tash opened her mouth to reply but James put a hand to her arm, stilling her words before they could leave her mouth. 

 “You can stay here with us and keep your fast,” he told her. “We won’t pressure you to eat. I just wanted to explain why we are. You’re welcome to stay or go back to your own tent.”

Tash looked at each of them. There was a warmth here, like the warmth she imagined lived within families.

But can I stay here and not be tempted eat? 

She took a deep breath. She had a lot of practice with hunger. 

“No, I want to stay,” she said. 

Calep clapped her on the shoulder. “Excellent. Then I can tell you the story of the cheesemonger’s ghost in Beregost.”

James and Sister Liri groaned.